


Yellow, Black, Silver, Steel, White

by MaskoftheRay



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Bigotry & Prejudice, Bittersweet, Character Study, Emotional, Experimental Style, Gen, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Needs a Hug, Hatred, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, If you're reading this on your phone turn it sideways, Introspection, Loneliness, Mobile Unfriendly, POV Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, POV Second Person, Poetry, Sad and Happy, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, What makes a monster a monster?, Witchers Have Feelings (The Witcher), philosophical
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:33:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22794820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaskoftheRay/pseuds/MaskoftheRay
Summary: A short, introspective piece about the life of one Geralt of Rivia.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Destiny, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Roach, Witchers & Humans
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	Yellow, Black, Silver, Steel, White

Mayhem and mauling and maligning and monsters, oh gods  
the monsters. You are so, _so_ tired of the monsters. Your feet ache  
and your bones creak and your skin is a map more layered than  
all the mountain peaks of the Continent. They say witchers aren’t  
human, yet some _humans_ aren’t so human, either. There are monsters  
which wear a man’s skin and have devil’s tongues and devious eyes and  
evil minds— these you despise the most.

You try not to put stock in their talk, but if wraiths and spirits and poltergeists  
and ghosts can hurt you, so can  
words.

Loneliness is a heart that is not supposed to feel  
but does.  
Loneliness is a tankard half-drunk and abandoned because of blistering eyes  
and wagging tongues— “That the witcher?” “No, that’s the _butcher_ ”—  
and you have lived long enough to know when talk will turn to  
trouble.  
Loneliness is sleeping under the stars and having no companion to see by their light.  
Loneliness is the sound of a bag of coins being left on a whore’s bedside table.  
Loneliness is the echo of your brothers’ laughter recalled on the empty stretches  
of a backwater road.  
Loneliness is the huff of breath released after waking from a nightmare  
and having no one there to ask if you are alright.  
Loneliness is knowing that when— not if— you die,  
no one, not a single person,  
will mourn  
your passing.

You scoff at the idea of destiny and call the concept of fate foolish  
because, secretly, you’re terrified about what it means if they’re true.

Still you carry on, plod down the Path because that’s what witchers do.  
You slay the beasts collect the coin tend to the wounds and move on and  
do it over again and again and again until you can’t any longer. And then  
you die. Gruesomely and forgotten. Alone. In pain. And your guild dwindles  
that much more, a guttering candle against the wind of time and memory.  
When the last of you are gone, people will blink momentarily in the darkness,  
exhale, and ask, “Who will kill the monsters now?”  
However, this has not yet happened, and it won’t, not for  
a little while longer.

But it’s not all so bad. Sometimes there is a smiling child who says, “Thank you.”  
Sometimes there is extra coin. Some of the scenery you wander through really is  
quite beautiful. Some people are interested, and not completely terrified by  
your appearance. Roach is always loyal. An inn’s ale will be cold and the soup hot  
and the bath large. A hunt will be challenging, but not overly dangerous. It’s not all  
bad, but most of it is. There is a reason you remember the exceptions.  
There is a reason that you feel sympathy for the more sentient monsters—  
it is tiring, so, so _tiring_ to be hated all of the time. 

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I write poetry IRL! I _love_ poetry, in fact. Just don’t usually put it up here.


End file.
